


Reversed

by sarahenany



Category: Hot Fuzz (2007)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 08:36:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahenany/pseuds/sarahenany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if he hadn't thrown himself in front of the blunderbuss in time? Danny's worst nightmare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reversed

Tom Weaver raises the blunderbuss. Nicholas stands there, fucking point-blank range, no time to do anything, _NO!_

Danny leaps, but his legs are mired, and he can't move. He falls flat on his face instead, but he can still see it as Weaver's finger depresses on the trigger. In slow-motion, Danny sees the cloud of dust and wadding and pellets explode out of the antique weapon, see every pellet as it ruptures Nicholas' body. It breaks the surface of the skin in a splash of blood like those freeze-frame photographs of a stone dropping into a puddle, edges of skin vibrating as each heavy metal pellet ploughs into Nicholas Angel. And there are so many pellets, hundreds upon hundreds of them, like good soldiers primed for the kill.

Danny screams as the bullets hit their mark. Nicholas is flung backwards by the impact like a rag doll, bright eyes wide in shock before he's slammed into a filing cabinet. Danny has a second to think _But people only fly backwards from bullets in the movies_ before he screams again at the sight of Nicholas jerking like a marionette beneath the hail of bullets tearing into his flesh. When Nick's moving it's always as if he's larger than life, like Denzel Washington or Mel Gibson. But now he's shrunken, soft, sliding down the filing cabinet, fragile and destroyed and bubbling blood.

Danny vaguely knows that someone's stopped Tom Weaver, or that he's not a threat. It's not clear. Nothing's clear except his friend, God God God Nicholas, crumpled on his back against the filing cabinet, face pale as death and contorted with pain, gasping for breath as his lungs battle the pieces of metal inside them. Nick's all skin and muscle – no fat to protect him, not even a little. The buckshot is inside him, tearing his vital organs apart. Blood bubbles from a hundred holes in his uniform jacket, stomach and chest shredded. His breath catches wet and choking in his tattered lungs.

Danny's crouching by Nicholas' side without knowing how he got there, reaching out, scooping his limp friend into his arms. Part of him is screaming that this isn't proper procedure, don't move the victim, but in a dead part of him, deep inside, he knows it doesn't matter. That nothing is going to matter ever again.

He slips his arms under him and hitches Nicholas up in his arms, sliding down into a sitting position and letting his arse hit the floor as he lifts Nicholas' legs over his own and cradles him like a child. Blood is still flowing out of Nick's front as he draws his last breaths, air pushing more blood from his mouth, expanding in great bubbles that pop at his lips, making him look grotesquely like he's wearing lipstick. His bright eyes are clouded, his blonde hair stained with red. Danny holds him, letting Nicholas' head rest in the crook of his arm, gripping his shoulder tightly. His other hand ghosts over Nicholas' bleeding torso, thoughts of stanching the flow, but his mind is stuck on _it's no use it's no use it's no use._ "Please," he's saying, "please, please, please, Nicholas, please, please…"

Nicholas shifts in his grip, eyes opening. Danny curls closer in around him, to protect him, _should have protected him in the first place what the fuck was I thinking now he's…_ His mind shies away from _dying_. Then his friend takes a shuddering breath, and Nicholas' face lights up. "It doesn't hurt," he smiles at Danny. Like the angel that is his namesake. He's light in Danny's arms, like he'll float away, blood still welling from his destroyed chest. Danny pulls him in tighter, bends to him. His forehead comes to rest against Nicholas'. There's no air, he's sobbing so hard he can't breathe. His cheek's touching Nicholas', his tears staining Nicholas' cheek.

Nicholas is torn from his arms.

He's flying through the air, alone. The station has exploded, everything is flying. Everything is flame. The sky is red, there's heat and dust, and he's alone.

He's pushing through rubble, tearing piles of brick apart with his bare hands, screaming Nicholas' name.

It's a hand. Nicholas' hand. The hand that caressed the stock of the air rifle so lovingly, that aimed with deadly accuracy, that held a pint, that patted his shoulder. The hand with the scar still in it from the knife wound. It's limp now, lifeless, the fingers curled in on themselves. Danny clutches it, bends to it, holds it to his cheek. He keeps that hand in a death-grip as he digs, weeping as he starts to remove the rubble, because he knows it's all over.

He uncovers him, brick by brick and stone by stone. Even as he unearths him, he knows it's too late. Danny's tears fall onto Nicholas' body, fall into Nicholas' grave. For it is his grave. His partner is covered in ash and soot, his face burned, his shattered chest packed with dry dirt and brick. The intelligence and enthusiasm and power that radiate from him is dead. His face is cold, his mouth slack, bright eyes closed forever.

"Nich'las—" Danny's breath is catching with his sobs, his chest on fire. He can't see for tears. He can't see anything but Nicholas, not dead, but alive. When he came into the station, like a sharp breath of bright air. The first time he laughed, really laughed. The way he watched Point Break, interested and thrilled but still with that cool air of passing judgment. How open and vulnerable his face was when he told Danny he couldn't switch off. His trust, the trust he gave Danny. He should have been worthy of that trust. He should have died, died a hundred times over, rather than let Nicholas Angel die.

Flakes of ash are still falling. They will soon cover both of them. Danny stretches out in the rubble beside Nicholas. He slips an arm under his friend's cold head, folds him into his arms like a child, pulls him close. He lies next to Nicholas in the rubble, content to be buried with him.

 

* * *

 

Nicholas starts. He was looking over at Danny, as he has been for the past hour, just watching him sleep—his shoulder's stiff, so he alternates between sides of Danny's bed—and just now, he's spotted tears slipping down Danny's cheeks.

Nicholas has never mentally compiled a list of things that would break his heart, but he finds, as he watches Danny crying in his sleep, that he's just found out what would be at the top of the list.

He stands up, slower than he'd like to, but he's still stiff. Being blown up will do that to you. For the moment, though, he's got more important things to worry about. "Danny?" he says softly. "Danny." He steps closer to the bed, reaching out. He pats Danny's cheek gently. His shoulder aches, but he ignores it – it's nothing. "You're dreaming. Danny, it's all right. It's all right. Danny. Wake up."

Danny gasps, his eyes snapping open. In a flash, Nicholas pins Danny's shoulders to the bed, and just in time—Danny strains against him, a clear indication that if he wasn't immobilized, he'd have bolted upright, tearing his carefully-stitched-together insides back apart. It makes Nicholas' own stitches burn, but it's well worth it. Danny gasps with pain, elbows jack-knifing up, and Nicholas grabs both his hands to prevent him doing himself an injury. "It's all right, Danny. It's fine. It's fine. Everything's just fine. It's fine, it's just fine…"

It takes quite a few repetitions before Danny calms down. His eyes are wild, staring at Nicholas like he can't quite believe he's there, tear-tracks still furrowing his cheeks. It comes to Nicholas that this probably isn't the first time he's had this nightmare. He keeps repeating meaningless reassurances, holding fast to Danny's hands. Danny's looking at his face with such grief that Nicholas feels obliged to add, "I'm all right. I'm all right, and so are you. Well, you got a bit torn up, but you'll be all right too. Nothing you can't handle."

Danny's staring at him. "You all right, Nich'las?" he whispers finally, voice ragged.

Nicholas gives what he hopes is a reassuring smile, although his shoulder is really starting to ache. "Fit as a fiddle." He can't help a small huff of breath, his concession to a sigh. "The carnage and mayhem was a bit too much for you, though."

Danny's still wide-eyed, looking lost and forlorn. "Are you real?"

Nicholas' heart breaks a little more. "I am," he smiles, sliding his hands up Danny's arms to grip his elbows. "I don't know what you saw, but it was a dream. Just a dream."

Danny blinks and sniffs, turning his hands to grip Nicholas' elbows in return. He nods, slowly. "Yeah." He bites his lip, still with that look in his eyes, as though Nicholas will disappear if he looks away. "Yeah. It weren't… You didn't…" He blinks once, hard, squeezing his eyes shut, and takes a deep breath, abruptly cut off when it hurts his shredded lungs. Nicholas winces in sympathy, hands tightening on Danny's elbows. Danny's eyes open again, drinking in the sight of Nicholas as though he's the most beautiful thing in the world. Nicholas feels himself blush a little at the stare—he's never had anyone look at him with so much adoration, not even Janine.

Embarrassed, Nicholas opens his mouth without much regard to what's coming out. "You scared the fuck out of me back there," he snaps. "What were you thinking, putting yourself in harm's way like that?"

Danny's face crumples, and he turns his face towards the wall and starts to cry.

"Fuck!" Nicholas shuts up, bends closer. "Danny—" Nicholas bends over his partner. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm an arse. I'm sorry. I didn't mean that the way it sounded. You saved my life, and I'm grateful, I truly am, I just didn't want you to get hurt."

Danny bites his lip hard, fights for control of himself. It's hurting him, Nicholas can see that, and he punches the morphine drip, holds onto Danny's hands as the pain medicine takes effect. Danny's hands slowly relax in Nicholas' grip, his breathing evening out, his shaking quieting. "I didn't want you to do that for me," Nicholas says, more gently.

"Weren't a choice." It's little more than a breath.

Nicholas stands still. He can't say a word. He just stares, as Danny goes on, quietly. "Didn't think about it, like. And… I couldn't have not— If you'd—if…" Danny swallows, paling worryingly. "I'd…" He looks earnestly into Nicholas' eyes. "Getting hurt's all right. It's other things that aren't."

Nicholas feels himself shiver. He tries to keep his voice steady. "Getting hurt is _never_ all right." He squeezes Danny's hands. It's a mistake—his squeeze turns into a spastic clutch as electricity spikes through his shoulder.

"Nich'las." Nicholas doesn't quite know how Danny, in his condition, has managed to guide him down to the edge of the bed and sit him down, but he must have temporarily lost control of himself or something, because now he's seated beside Danny and Danny's patting his thigh. "Getting hurt isn't all right, eh? Looks like someone didn't get the memo."

Danny's words are light, but his big brown eyes are sorrowful. The sympathy in them makes Nicholas feel embarrassed, but also… rather comforted. "This is nothing," he mutters, "it isn't serious." He's not used to being made a fuss of.

"Let me be the judge of that. Get down 'ere, I can't move."

Guilted into it, Nicholas has no recourse but to half-lie down on top of the covers next to Danny so that his partner can inspect his wound. In the process, he's ended up with his cheek sort of squashed into Danny's shoulder, and Danny's shoulder is soft, and Nicholas didn't realize he was so tired until he rested his head on Danny's shoulder and felt the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. He wedges his uninjured arm into the empty space between them and feels Danny's arm come up around his back. Then, he feels Danny take a deep, happy, satisfied breath, like the last of his nightmare has finally been chased away, and he falls asleep between one breath and another.

Nicholas ponders his position. He can't very well get up from the dodgy position he's in, not without waking Danny. He doesn't really want to go anywhere – his awkwardness stems more from a sense of propriety than out of any real desire to get up. Nicholas' shoulder has stopped hurting for the first time in days, and Danny's softer than his hotel pillow, and his breath is soothing, reminds Nicholas with every inhalation that he's blessedly alive. And it's not as though Nicholas has anywhere pressing to be.

His internal conflict is surprisingly short. Propriety be hanged, thinks Nicholas as he pulls his legs up onto the bed, settling more comfortably into the warmth and comfort of his sleeping friend.

That night, Danny sleeps peacefully, and his dreams are kind.

And Nicholas has the best sleep he's had since he was four years old.

(Postscript: Also, a blanket was draped over Nicholas Angel at some point during the night, by person or persons unknown. In addition, several phone pictures were taken, which, in a move that brings credit to the Sandford police force – sorry, service – were deleted, not without regret, before they could ever see the light of day.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Oksana, my eternal Hot Fuzz fangeek pal, for character advice.


End file.
